


white winter hymnal - jschlatt - "christmastime"

by americanaspacecadet



Series: GoopCast / Lunch Club One Off Fics [7]
Category: Dream SMP - Fandom, Lunch Club, SMPLive, Video Blogging RPF
Genre: (obviously it's schlatt we're talking abt here), Christmas Decorations, Christmas Fluff, Cross-Posted on Tumblr, F/M, First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, Nostalgia, Roommates, Swearing, also apparently schlatt's name is john, go watch schlatt's cereal video and this'll make more sense, reader is not originally from brooklyn, shorter than i wanted but Hey at least i'm writing again, so i refer to him as such in this, vinyls and slow dancing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-14
Updated: 2020-12-14
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:07:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28067487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/americanaspacecadet/pseuds/americanaspacecadet
Summary: '' december in new york city is a spectacle of unmatched levels — times square becomes a glittering winter wonderland almost overnight, the fire escapes and frosted windows dotting the large-scale buildings of the boroughs slowly begin to ooze a festive glow, and the scent of pine and cinnamon fills the confines of your brick-and-mortar bay ridge apartment that resides along the belt parkway ... the charm and principle of the thing is quickly broken, however, when you wake to your roommate’s vicious shouts from his office, his two-toned rasp traveling straight through the walls like a bullet. ''
Relationships: Jschlatt (Video Blogging RPF)/You
Series: GoopCast / Lunch Club One Off Fics [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1556836
Comments: 10
Kudos: 145





	white winter hymnal - jschlatt - "christmastime"

**Author's Note:**

> HI IT'S REALLY NICE TO BE BACK
> 
> SORRY IT TOOK SO LONG
> 
> HYPERFIXATION IS A BITCH
> 
> also fuckin,,, rip lunch club i guess goddamn :,(

_ “how mad would you be if i kissed you?” _

_ “horribly,” you murmur. “do it anyway.” _

december in new york city is a spectacle of unmatched levels — times square becomes a glittering winter wonderland almost overnight, the fire escapes and frosted windows dotting the large-scale buildings of the boroughs slowly begin to ooze a festive glow, and the scent of pine and cinnamon fills the confines of your brick-and-mortar bay ridge apartment that resides along the belt parkway — and it makes it hard for you to miss home. you’d moved in with john just a few months after you’d said goodbye to everyone and everything you’d ever known in your home state, kicking off the cliff dive into adulthood by traveling umpteen hours to a strange borough inhabited by even stranger souls. and, even though you usually ached to return to your roots this time of year, some unknown force kept your wandering heart in place.

the charm and principle of the thing is quickly broken, however, when you wake to your roommate’s vicious shouts from his office, his two-toned rasp traveling straight through the walls like a bullet. bleary eyes scan over an alarm clock — mockingly reading  _ 3:59am _ in neon red pixels — and you begrudgingly escape from the warm confines of your blanket cocoon.

snow falls heavily outside of your window, thickly blanketing the wrought-iron of your beloved fire escape. the serenity brings a wash of irony over your half-asleep state, and you can’t help the soft chuckle that rumbles in your chest. moving through the room, you wrap yourself in an oversized hoodie you’d stolen from his laundry, fuzzy pajama pants, and your favorite raccoon slippers a content creator had gifted you a few years back. the handle of your bedroom door is lukewarm at best when you slip from your room, feet shuffling across the dark wood floor. the shouts somehow gain volume as you draw closer to his office, and you snort as you hear a cardboard box launch across the room, laughing harder as his panicked shouts travel across the room with it. you rap your knuckles against the door, waiting for him to open it.

he does. “y/n?”

“done with recording at four in the morning, huh?” you tease, sleep still thick in your voice. “at least tell me what the hell you’re working on that requires…” you hesitate, peering around the gangly form of your halfwit roommate. “ _ cereal _ ... being spread like pigeon feed across your office.”

“well, ah, i’m filming a video where i rate cereal.”

“and you’re making this big of a commotion?”

he smiles gently. “after all this time, you’re still not used to me?”

“you’re my roommate, john, not my boyfriend. i shouldn’t have to be used to anything.”

he clutches at his chest with the hand not holding both a box of wheaties and his gold-plated subscriber plaque, a look of faux hurt on his face.

“not even gonna give me a chance, are ya?”

“you’ve proven over the last two years that i definitely shouldn’t,” you retort, slipping into his office. “and i hope to god you plan on cleaning this up at some point.”

“yes, dear, i do,” he quips. “i’ll do it after i finish filming.”

“are you done with the lucky charms?”

“yep. do you want them?”

you laugh. “always. gimme.”

he laughs, passing you the box before settling back into his cobbled together desk chair. you close the door behind you, chest bubbling with laughter when his wild voice rumbles through the walls once more.

following the familiar path to the kitchen from his office, you flip the switch on the power strip, lighting the kitchen with a warm fairy light glow and bringing the kettle to life. leaving the cereal box on the scuffed granite counter, you busy the kettle with making two cups of instant coffee — one with a teaspoon of sugar and no creamer for john, and one with more sugar and creamer than coffee for you — and turn back to the lucky charms. cereal tumbles into the faded ceramic bowl first, followed by a shallow pool of milk. your ears perk up when the shouts come to an end, followed by the office door opening and closing down the hall. socked feet pad down the hallway, delivering a now weary and messy-haired john into the small kitchen.

“my hero,” he murmurs, voice raspy from the constant strain of his bullshit brand of comedy. “how do you manage to make instant coffee good?”

“it's a combination of you being sleep deprived, picky about how you like your coffee made, and how needy you are for caffeine.”

he hums, sipping on the still-hot brew. “this is true. i might buy a keurig soon though.”

“and ruin the tradition of us drinking shitty coffee at four in the morning?”

“shit, you’re right, i can't ruin tradition,” he snorts. “plus i might become too much of a lush if i finally cave.”

you point at him with the business end of your spoon, milk dripping from the end. “as if you aren't one already, mr. ‘i bought a shit ton of cereal for one video’.”

“listen, y/n, that was  _ science _ happening in there,” he retorts. “i’m doing important experiments.”

“was the name of this one ‘how many boxes of cereal do i need to throw around my office before i wake up my roommate’?”

he laughs, voice layered with hints of exhaustion. he takes another sip, leaning against the island in the middle of the kitchen. blissful silence seeps across the room, boxed in by the hum of the radiator and the wall of snow still tumbling down outside the frosted windowpanes. you let your mind wander as the rare quiet stretches on, thoughts of past christmases swirling in your head. your mind catches on a specific memory of mistletoe and one too many beers, and you can almost relive the moment when — 

“hey.”

you turn to him, your train of thought abruptly derailed. “what are you thinking in that head of yours?”

“i’m thinking... we should put up the christmas decorations.”

“john…” you trail off. “i think you need to go to bed.”

“no no, c’mon, hear me out,” he pleads. “it’ll be so nice to watch the sun come up while decorating. i promise we can go to bed right after.”

you debate it for a moment — relinquish precious hours of cozy winter sleep, just to stay up with your delirious roommate to decorate, which you absolutely could do several hours later? — and make your decision.

“yeah, yeah, fine. but you have to get the boxes out of the closet.”

he grins a genuine thousand kilowatt smile, all pearly teeth and crinkled eyes, and runs to the storage closet. a cacophonous tumble of noises follows soon after, accompanied by the sound of stray strands of christmas lights skittering across the floor. the brunet darts back and forth from the living room to the storage closet, his manic rush coming to a halt once he drags a tied up christmas tree into the living room.

you blink. “motherfucker… you… how fucking long have you had that  _ real _ christmas tree in our apartment? and why the hell have i not noticed it?!”

“i bought it when you were running errands in manhattan,” he states. “it was a bitch to get up here, though.”

you sit down on the couch, dumbfounded. “you’re fucking insane.”

“i am  _ invested _ in christmas.”

you shake your head, watching as he pulls the tree skirt and stand from one of the many boxes. planting said combination in front of the living room windows, he settles the tree into the holder, pulls a knife from god knows where, and frees the tree from its netting — only to send a torrential downpour of pine needles onto the blue-grey carpet.

john looks at the tree in utter desolation, eyebrows raised in a combination of disbelief and disappointment. giggles travel subtly over your frame, cheeks turning red from withholding your amusement when his temper begins to flare.

“i’m  _ sorry? _ ” he barks suddenly, making you snort. “what the fuck?”

“dude... what did you expect? it's a live tree you’ve had sitting in — most likely — your office closet, and you expected it to  _ not _ make a mess?”

he pauses for a moment. you think he's done with the bit, and then — 

“this  _ motherfucker _ comes into  _ my  _ home,” he starts again, oblivious to your building laughter. “and shits his little needles all over my fucking carpet! this is the payment for me showing basic sympathy and allowing him to reside here for the winter! i cannot believe the absolutely planetoid-sized  _ balls  _ this shitty little tree has under its ever falling curtain of fucking  _ NEEDLES! _ ”

you can barely speak with a straight tone. “john, please, go easy -”

“go easy on  _ this  _ coniferous cretin who has made a mockery of my living room? blasphemy, y/n, really.”

you howl with laughter after that line, all sense of control flying out the third story window of your shared apartment. john slumps onto the couch, caramel eyes staring forlornly at the mess strewn wildly around the culprit.

“i told you, we should’ve just gone with a fake tree.”

“but the christmas spirit chokes on those things!”

“are you… are you insinuating the christmas spirit eats christmas trees?”

john looks delirious. “is that how that sounded?”

“oh my god, we both need to go to bed.”

“i think we just need to power through this.”

and so the two of you do; taking turns winding strands of multicolored lights and pinning glittery ornaments onto the ever-shedding tree, hanging stockings to the fake fireplace’s mantle, and throwing random bits of tinsel around the rest of the apartment. john disappears into his office for a moment, allowing you to sneak his neatly wrapped christmas presents under the christmas tree — two vintage sweatshirts you stumbled upon while drunk-scrolling ebay at three in the morning, his favorite cologne, a signed vinyl of dr. dog’s  _ shame, shame _ , and a framed picture of the day the two of you moved in with each other. the picture still remained its place as your favorite of the two of you; sweaty, messy, slightly blurry, but still perfectly capturing the beginnings of a powerful and caring friendship. you roll the word around in your head now —  _ friendship _ — and let it wash over the changes you’d noticed over the last few months of living with john.

you hadn’t been sure how to describe said subtle changes — him making both of you breakfast and coffee in the mornings, offering to cover nights out more often, changing movie nights from once a month to once a week (which, more often than not, ended with one of you sprawled across the other) — but the more you thought about it, the more you realized you’d fallen for your wild child of a roommate.

what scared you the most is that, all things considered, you were  _ okay  _ with falling for him. regardless of the midnight wake-ups, terrible humor, wild temper, and general catastrophe, you adore the man.

so in his absence, you slide the couch and coffee table to the sides of the living room, flick on the turntable stationed in the corner of the room, and search through the overflowing box of vinyls next to the table.  _ on the waters  _ finally slips into your hands, and you busy yourself with helping the vinyl play. skipping to the second song on the disc, you let the warm guitar fill the apartment, and wait for john to come back.

he enters the room after a moment. “what’s going on?”

“dance with me?”

“well, of course,” he laughs. “this  _ is  _ bread playing, after all.”

he sweeps into the room, setting his hands on your waist. your heart skips when he smiles down at you, his cheek pressing against your forearm when your hands settle behind his head. the two of you sway slowly to the song, lyrics tumbling easily from your mouths.

“ _ dreams are for those who sleep _ ,” he laughs at that line, fingers tapping the rhythm on your hip.

“ _ life is for us to keep _ ,”

“ _ and if you're wondering what this song is leading to, _ ”

“ _ i want to make it with you _ .” you sing gently, eyes peering hopefully at the man in your arms.

his gaze softens.

“thought you said i didn’t have a chance,” he whispers, leaning towards you.

“i changed my mind.”

the crooning guitars of  _ make it with you _ fade out in that moment, smoothly replaced by the seductive guitar line of  _ blue satin pillow _ . one of his hands moves to cup your face, his forehead nearly pressing against yours.

“how mad would you be if i kissed you?”

“horribly,” you murmur. “do it anyway.”

he grins like a wolf, hungrily pressing his lips against yours. the kiss isn’t perfect by any stretch of the word — you’re both drunk off of dopamine and melatonin deprivation, john’s lips are chapped, and you think you’re stepping on his toes — but you drink it in like desiccated soil drowns itself in a downpour, tangling your fingers in his snarled locks. thrills travel up your spine when his free hand presses into your lower back, heat radiating from the calloused skin and sinking into the stolen hoodie.

“is this the reason,” he breathes between kisses. “you kept stealing my clothes?”

you grin. “mhmm. wanted to keep you on your toes, keep your eyes on me.”

“is this also why you kept bitching about being single?”

“wanted to see if i was right.”

“well,” he purrs, laying the deep tone on thick. “were you?”

“yes. and thank fuck i was.”

a breathy groan slips from him, and he kisses you again. 

“i’d say we did a good job with the apartment.”

you nod in agreement, eyes wandering over the well-decorated living room. your heart flutters when john wraps his arm just a little tighter around you, shifting the heavy quilt to cover your shoulders. 

“i think i’d be content to sleep right here,” he adds. “the fireplace is on, the radiator’s actually working, and i’ve got a gorgeous girl in my arms.”

“but we’ve only got…” you check the clock on the cable box, just below the television. “fifteen minutes before sunrise. don’t you want to cap off how great tonight-slash-this morning has been with a pretty sunrise?”

a hum rumbles low in his chest, and he presses a kiss to your cheek. “sleep now, sunrises later. i’m sure we’ll have plenty more opportunities in the future.”

you cave, falling asleep with your head against his warm chest.

and when you dream of the memory again, you make sure to kiss him this time around.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading <3 had a good time writing abt schlatt again


End file.
